I've had lots of disparate thoughts going through my brain lately and it seems this post is a reflection of that.
First off, astrologists recently found a giant quasar that appears to be not only the brightest object ever found, but also the most distant and earliest quasar ever detected. Quasars are of particular interest to me because they are found the center of young galaxies and surround black holes (you all should know by now how much black holes fascinate me). Who doesn't want to learn more about a super-bright object that is massively powerful and full of energy?
On an artistic discoveries, check out this cartoon called "Born Like an Artist." I wonder what the anthropomorphic personification of my artistic soul looks like? I'm not sure it would be an animal. I think it might be something more abstract...maybe some kind of squiggle or a bouncy, round face.
And to combine two of my intellectual loves, here's a periodic table of storytelling. A couple of "elements" that caught my eye are Jhg, 1wa, Mpb, and Gtb.
Over at Diversity in YA Fiction, the authors are challenging readers to diversity their reading choices. Publicly post an essay about your diverse reading experience and you have a chance at winning "a giant collections of fabulous MG and YA books."
Finally, a third love of mine (soccer) is being showcased on a worldwide stage this summer. The FIFA Women's World Cup 2011 earlier this week. I was pleased to see that the women's games are getting just as much TV coverage as the men did last summer.
Where have your thoughts been taking you lately?
*311
Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
"Pictures of people taking pictures of people taking pictures"*
At the 2011 SCBWI Poconos conference, the session called "Writing Not Waiting" was taught by editor Robert Agis. He started us with some writing exercises, which I actually participated in whole-heartedly (sometimes I don't connect with the writing exercises in these types of workshops and can't really get into them). He gave us a line that we were to use as a catalyst to write. It didn't matter what we wrote, just that we wrote something.
It was surprisingly freeing. I haven't just sat and written without a defined purpose for a long time. I always feel guitly about doing that because I think I should be spending time on my current project or my blog or revising or creating freelance puzzles. These exercises reminded me that sometimes you need to sit and write freely and that it is not a waste. It will actually allow you to work on your own writing without the pressure of making things perfect (which is impossible anyway...perfection, that is).
That's one of the things I've been struggling with lately and relates to the whole getting-back-to-my-true-self goal. I haven't felt free while writing. I keep getting caught up in all the things I don't know about my characters and the setting or all the things I haven't researched yet. And my obsessive need to explore all these aspects of the story ad infinitum is holding me back from discovering the very things I've been obsessing over (and sucks all of the fun out of writing). Writing without judgement or too much thought may be just what I need to discover more about my story.
So in my ever-growing effort to be a better person/writer, I took some advice from Robert. He talked about using images as a stimulus for writing. He recommended taking stock images from websites and doing Internet searches to find photographs that represent characters or settings in your story. They can be there to act as "can openers" for your writing. Here's the can opener I created for my mermaid story.
Some of these are from my own photos from Tahiti (where the story takes place), others are Internet images and ones from magazines. The ones with writing on the bottom are English/French/Tahitian translations of popular words and phrases. The other writings are about black-pearl farming (which is the future trade of one of the main characters).
*Jack Johnson
It was surprisingly freeing. I haven't just sat and written without a defined purpose for a long time. I always feel guitly about doing that because I think I should be spending time on my current project or my blog or revising or creating freelance puzzles. These exercises reminded me that sometimes you need to sit and write freely and that it is not a waste. It will actually allow you to work on your own writing without the pressure of making things perfect (which is impossible anyway...perfection, that is).
That's one of the things I've been struggling with lately and relates to the whole getting-back-to-my-true-self goal. I haven't felt free while writing. I keep getting caught up in all the things I don't know about my characters and the setting or all the things I haven't researched yet. And my obsessive need to explore all these aspects of the story ad infinitum is holding me back from discovering the very things I've been obsessing over (and sucks all of the fun out of writing). Writing without judgement or too much thought may be just what I need to discover more about my story.
So in my ever-growing effort to be a better person/writer, I took some advice from Robert. He talked about using images as a stimulus for writing. He recommended taking stock images from websites and doing Internet searches to find photographs that represent characters or settings in your story. They can be there to act as "can openers" for your writing. Here's the can opener I created for my mermaid story.
Some of these are from my own photos from Tahiti (where the story takes place), others are Internet images and ones from magazines. The ones with writing on the bottom are English/French/Tahitian translations of popular words and phrases. The other writings are about black-pearl farming (which is the future trade of one of the main characters).
*Jack Johnson
Monday, December 27, 2010
"C Is For Cookie"*
It just wouldn't have been a complete Christmas without making cookies with the nephews and niece. I love to see the creativity come out of each of them in different ways.
My 5-year-old niece is a girl's girl. She loves princesses, her favorite colors are pink and purple, and she often compliments me on a cute shirt or accessory. She is also very creative and passionate in her pursuits, especially drawing and coloring. She was the last kid standing when it came to decorating.
My 4-year-old nephew is what I like to call mechanically creative. He's a very literal little boy, who watches and explores how things move and work. He is also super sweet and indulges his auntie when she asks for a little "sugar" (hug and kisses) or to eat his cheeks, which have the cutest dimples. He tends to be very methodical with his creations.
(From left to right: we have Squidword as made by my little nephew, a trendy snow lady complete with rosy cheeks courtesy of my niece, and Michael Jackson as envisioned by my older nephew.)
(This is just a sampling of the cookies we made. I don't think any of them are mine. I played around with different combinations of black and white frosting this year.)
My 5-year-old niece is a girl's girl. She loves princesses, her favorite colors are pink and purple, and she often compliments me on a cute shirt or accessory. She is also very creative and passionate in her pursuits, especially drawing and coloring. She was the last kid standing when it came to decorating.
My 4-year-old nephew is what I like to call mechanically creative. He's a very literal little boy, who watches and explores how things move and work. He is also super sweet and indulges his auntie when she asks for a little "sugar" (hug and kisses) or to eat his cheeks, which have the cutest dimples. He tends to be very methodical with his creations.
(From left to right: we have Squidword as made by my little nephew, a trendy snow lady complete with rosy cheeks courtesy of my niece, and Michael Jackson as envisioned by my older nephew.)Naturally I forgot to bring my camera this year, so thanks to my mom (and here is where my brother would say, "Thanks to your mom!") for the pictures. What are your favorite traditions?
*Joe Raposo (as sung by Cookie Monster)
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
"The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash"*
Now that it's almost October, I've decided it's not too early to share this little bit of silly Halloween fun. Courtesy of the Oriental Trading Company (which is a good place to shop if you're hosting a themed party), I made a Monster Mash-Up.
I created several of these with various people in my family and e-mailed the results to them. Admittedly, uploading and cropping those pictures to get the heads just right was way more fun than it should have been.
The one you got to see featured me, me, and more me (at various stages of my life). There's me at a Yankees game, me sitting in a river with shorts on my head while on a girls' camping trip, me in a swimming pool, me dressed up as a pirate for my Halloween party, and me sitting on a lawn with my sisters (we're all in dresses). I picked the rock version of the song because, of course, I'm a rock star!
So often, it's the little things in life that put a smile on my face. What makes you smile? (Oh, and if you decide to make your own Monster Mash-Up be sure to post a link for me...pretty please.)
*Bobby "Boris" Pickett
I created several of these with various people in my family and e-mailed the results to them. Admittedly, uploading and cropping those pictures to get the heads just right was way more fun than it should have been.
The one you got to see featured me, me, and more me (at various stages of my life). There's me at a Yankees game, me sitting in a river with shorts on my head while on a girls' camping trip, me in a swimming pool, me dressed up as a pirate for my Halloween party, and me sitting on a lawn with my sisters (we're all in dresses). I picked the rock version of the song because, of course, I'm a rock star!
So often, it's the little things in life that put a smile on my face. What makes you smile? (Oh, and if you decide to make your own Monster Mash-Up be sure to post a link for me...pretty please.)
*Bobby "Boris" Pickett
Sunday, September 13, 2009
"Go down to the lake of fire"*
WaterFire Providence is an interactive work of art that was designed by Barnaby Evans. It consists of 100 iron braziers that seem to defy physics as they float on three rivers in downtown Providence. The fires are lit at sunset and keep going until after midnight.
(Here's Waterplace Park in the daytime. You can see the braziers are stacked with wood. On the left is the Courtyard Marriott and on the right is the Westin Hotel. Even more buildings have been put up since this picture was taken a few years ago. This area of Providence has gone through a real growth period over the last ten years.)
The WaterFire experience is really something that can't be described, but I'll give it a try. Imagine a communal ritual based around fire—very natural and primal—but in a modern, urban setting. The juxtaposition is part of the beauty. In order to really appreciate the full work of art, the hubby and I walk down the riverside in a slow procession of people, surrounded by the sounds, smells, and sights of city and art. For once, I don't mind having to take a minute to pause and experience all the moment has to offer. All my senses are engaged.
(Here's the park at night from a different angle. Providence Place Mall is in the background.)
Sight is obvious. The bright orange flames glow in the braziers, reflecting off the inky waters. Bright ash flits by us. The boats move up and down the river: the pontoons full of people, the romantic gondola designed for two, and the staff boat with the black-clad volunteers that steal up to the braziers like some kind of fire phantoms. Then there's the city scape: the Bank of America Building (locally known as the Superman Building), which always reminds me of Dana's apartment building in Ghostbusters; the cars driving by; the mall; the people; the bridges; and all those the city lights. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the street performers dressed as gargoyles and fortune-tellers.
Smell is pretty obvious too, given that the scent of fire is pretty distinct. These fires smell of pine and cedar. But there's also the city smells: car exhaust, street vendors, and all those unidentifiable, funky smells that are part of city life.
Sound is prevalent as well. The wood cackles and pops as the flames hit air pockets, and the musical program that is part of the art experience echoes along the walkway (my favorite song this visit is Chopin's "Nocturne No. 8 in D flat major" performed by Daniel Barenboim). And of course, there's the sounds of the city: car horns, the shuffle of feet along the walkway, quiet murmurs of the crowd, and the whir of motors of both cars and boats.
Touch is more subtle. The fires send a wave of warmth across my skin. A light breeze blows my hair around my face. The stone walkway is cool and uneven beneath my sandals.
*Meat Puppets
(Here's Waterplace Park in the daytime. You can see the braziers are stacked with wood. On the left is the Courtyard Marriott and on the right is the Westin Hotel. Even more buildings have been put up since this picture was taken a few years ago. This area of Providence has gone through a real growth period over the last ten years.)The WaterFire experience is really something that can't be described, but I'll give it a try. Imagine a communal ritual based around fire—very natural and primal—but in a modern, urban setting. The juxtaposition is part of the beauty. In order to really appreciate the full work of art, the hubby and I walk down the riverside in a slow procession of people, surrounded by the sounds, smells, and sights of city and art. For once, I don't mind having to take a minute to pause and experience all the moment has to offer. All my senses are engaged.
(Here's the park at night from a different angle. Providence Place Mall is in the background.)Sight is obvious. The bright orange flames glow in the braziers, reflecting off the inky waters. Bright ash flits by us. The boats move up and down the river: the pontoons full of people, the romantic gondola designed for two, and the staff boat with the black-clad volunteers that steal up to the braziers like some kind of fire phantoms. Then there's the city scape: the Bank of America Building (locally known as the Superman Building), which always reminds me of Dana's apartment building in Ghostbusters; the cars driving by; the mall; the people; the bridges; and all those the city lights. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the street performers dressed as gargoyles and fortune-tellers.
Smell is pretty obvious too, given that the scent of fire is pretty distinct. These fires smell of pine and cedar. But there's also the city smells: car exhaust, street vendors, and all those unidentifiable, funky smells that are part of city life.
Sound is prevalent as well. The wood cackles and pops as the flames hit air pockets, and the musical program that is part of the art experience echoes along the walkway (my favorite song this visit is Chopin's "Nocturne No. 8 in D flat major" performed by Daniel Barenboim). And of course, there's the sounds of the city: car horns, the shuffle of feet along the walkway, quiet murmurs of the crowd, and the whir of motors of both cars and boats.
Touch is more subtle. The fires send a wave of warmth across my skin. A light breeze blows my hair around my face. The stone walkway is cool and uneven beneath my sandals.
Taste is the most elusive sense. On this trip, I have the delicious memory of the previous night's dinner. The hubby and I went to Constantino's on Federal Hill. We started with carpaccio (which neither of us had ever eaten) and some Riesling. Then I had gnocchi and the hubby had chicken parmigiana. Both were awesome! For dessert, I had a cannoli platter...of course! But none of that really has anything to do with the WaterFires. Sure, there's a bunch of restaurants along the rivers, but I want a better connection between taste and fire. Well, the program informs me that Indian Buddhists believe the element water is associated with taste (fire is sight, earth is smell, and air is touch).
Even with having to stretch a little for taste, it was still a lovely evening.
Even with having to stretch a little for taste, it was still a lovely evening.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
"But still the wars go on as the years go by"*
My nephew and sister showed me this clip of the Ukraine's Got Talent winner and it was so moving I had to share it. (And for once I had something to show my husband on YouTube that he hadn't already seen!)
I won't pretend to understand all the symbolism of the piece (seeing as I've never been to the Ukraine or lived in a war-torn country), but it was certainly impressive. The speed and accuracy with which Ms. Simonova drops, moves, and swipes the sand around the light board is amazing. I love how she layers the images to merge one into another instead of wiping the whole board clean and starting over. Her musical choices (my favorite was Apocalypitca's rendition of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters") were also effective in setting the tone of the piece and assisting the transitions.
As a writer, I felt like this was a lesson in story-telling. There was so much to learn from this piece: establishing voice and tone, use of symbolism, flawless transitions, engaging multiple senses, drama, story arch, relevance to the real world, emotional connection, character. It was all there. And even though it was on a Ukrainian television show, there was really no language barrier to deal with. I love words and language, but this piece just goes to show that they are limited in ways that art isn't.
What did you think? Oh, and keep an eye out for my next post about another multisensory art form (one I have actually experienced first-hand).
*Guns N' Roses
I won't pretend to understand all the symbolism of the piece (seeing as I've never been to the Ukraine or lived in a war-torn country), but it was certainly impressive. The speed and accuracy with which Ms. Simonova drops, moves, and swipes the sand around the light board is amazing. I love how she layers the images to merge one into another instead of wiping the whole board clean and starting over. Her musical choices (my favorite was Apocalypitca's rendition of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters") were also effective in setting the tone of the piece and assisting the transitions.
As a writer, I felt like this was a lesson in story-telling. There was so much to learn from this piece: establishing voice and tone, use of symbolism, flawless transitions, engaging multiple senses, drama, story arch, relevance to the real world, emotional connection, character. It was all there. And even though it was on a Ukrainian television show, there was really no language barrier to deal with. I love words and language, but this piece just goes to show that they are limited in ways that art isn't.
What did you think? Oh, and keep an eye out for my next post about another multisensory art form (one I have actually experienced first-hand).
*Guns N' Roses
Thursday, July 2, 2009
"Who wrote the book of love"*
I've made an Internet appearance again! This time in print form and not picture form. I posed this question (it's the first one listed) after reading Cindy Pon's YA fantasy book Silver Phoenix, and she chose to answer it in vlog form.
Here's a bit more about the book and a link to Cindy's contest (I selfishly posted these so I could be entered twice into her contest! Her artwork is awesome!).
I'll finish by stealing a question that Cindy always asks her guest authors: Who is your favorite literary crush? Check out the comments to see mine.
*Monotones
Here's a bit more about the book and a link to Cindy's contest (I selfishly posted these so I could be entered twice into her contest! Her artwork is awesome!).
I'll finish by stealing a question that Cindy always asks her guest authors: Who is your favorite literary crush? Check out the comments to see mine.
*Monotones
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
"I see hate and I see love when the world's on a string"*
While I was originally—as an eight-year-old—attracted to the bright colors and shiny finish of the Snow Village, I find—as an adult—there is another appeal to having it: control. I have all the power in my village. I decide where all the buildings go, where the people go...I'm in charge of everything. Bwahaha!!! (That's evil laughter in case you couldn't tell!)
This doesn't really surprise me. As a kid, I used to play with the vintage Fisher Price Little People. Remember how the people had no hands or legs. We had a school, a castle, houses, a barn, cars, all kinds of things. (By the way, my mom still has all these toys, and looking over these pictures and prices, I think she could make a bundle selling them!) I always loved setting them up and figuring out all the backgrounds for all the people, and then once that was over, I would hardly play with them. The fun was in the back story, and it was all mine to control.
That's me in the wagon...the little blond girl holding the present. In previous years I have lived in the lighthouse (it's kind of small living quarters, though).
My brother decided he wanted to be the kid in the party hat (he thought the kid was a wizard). It's more likely that my brother is actually the kid throwing the snowball! The lady with the balloons reminded me of my grandmother (and she is the one who started this whole Village, so I guess she should be in it!)
This picture came out kind of psychedelic, which I thought was cool...and below is what this part of the Village (there's more than just this table!) looks like in the dark.
This doesn't really surprise me. As a kid, I used to play with the vintage Fisher Price Little People. Remember how the people had no hands or legs. We had a school, a castle, houses, a barn, cars, all kinds of things. (By the way, my mom still has all these toys, and looking over these pictures and prices, I think she could make a bundle selling them!) I always loved setting them up and figuring out all the backgrounds for all the people, and then once that was over, I would hardly play with them. The fun was in the back story, and it was all mine to control.
I get that same sense of power from setting up my Snow Village. When all else in the world is out of whack, I have my quiet, peaceful, twinkling village. It's as beautiful and perfect as I want it to be. So, here's some pictures and commentary on this year's Village.
I decided that this year the Tudor-style log cabin is my home. I imagine it's next to a big snow mountain, but within walking distance to the center of town. (That is the Town Hall behind it.)
That's me in the wagon...the little blond girl holding the present. In previous years I have lived in the lighthouse (it's kind of small living quarters, though).
That's my nine-year-old nephew and his dog, Cashew. (My nephew gave me that piece.) He's in front of the Center for the Arts because he has my sense of creativity.
The clown always goes near the Hospital...in case there's any sick kids stuck there for the holidays. Notice the Library and Church in the background. Also, that's my dad (sorry I cut him off a bit) leading his horse, Beau.
My brother decided he wanted to be the kid in the party hat (he thought the kid was a wizard). It's more likely that my brother is actually the kid throwing the snowball! The lady with the balloons reminded me of my grandmother (and she is the one who started this whole Village, so I guess she should be in it!)I decided that my husband is the delivery man this year. We met at Harrison's Hardware when we were in high school and the Gift Shop reminds me of that. (He wanted to be the fireman, but my brother-in-law is a fireman in real life, so he got that designation this year...maybe next year the hubby can be the fireman.) I love how the proportions of the people are way off compared to the buildings, doors, and vehicles.
This picture came out kind of psychedelic, which I thought was cool...and below is what this part of the Village (there's more than just this table!) looks like in the dark. All those who stop by the house while my Village is still up are welcome and encouraged to find themselves in it.
*Our Lady Peace
Thursday, January 15, 2009
"And the sky is a hazy shade of winter"*
More snow fell this morning. Worse than that, we're experiencing an extreme cold snap here in New England. My outdoor thermometer is reading 7.7 degrees right now (yes, that's Fahrenheit!). Winter is getting a bit old...and there's still over two months left of it.
A spot of winter brightness comes from a little collection of mine. My grandmother started a collection for each of my sisters and me on our eighth birthday. My two older sisters both collected Madame Alexander dolls. My younger sister ended up with a porcelain animal collection (I think made by Lennox).
When my turn came about, my grandmother took me to a store called Happy House in the mall. It was just the two of us, which made me feel very special (when you grow up in a family of seven getting one-on-one attention from an adult is a nice treat). And she was letting me pick out my collection all by myself.
Something caught my eye when I first walked into the store. It was a winter village with buildings that were bright colors and shiny. They were so pretty, and they lit up! I didn't want to be hasty, so I made sure to walk all around the store to see what else they had to offer. My eyes kept wandering back to that village, though, and that's what I picked.
Years later, my grandmother told me she tried her hardest to get me to pick almost anything else in the store. There were pewter figurines, Precious Moments figurines, and a bunch of other small collectibles to choose from. Apparently, my grandmother thought it would be better for me to pick something smaller than a village, seeing as there was seven of us living in a tiny two-bedroom house.
But I was eight and didn't care about practical matters like space, and besides my collection was starting with just one building. I may have been small myself (and I was even small for my age...I always said if my siblings and I had been a litter of dogs, I would've been the runt that got drowned), but I certainly wasn't thinking small. I now have over twenty buildings and countless accessories in my Snow Village. It's still growing too, although not as rapidly as when my grandmother used to add to it twice a year (once on my birthday and again on Christmas).
I currently have it displayed in two different rooms on a total of three different surfaces. I'm a bit more discriminate when I add a large piece to it these days because I don't want to have to buy a second house just to accommodate the village. There's just something about the yellow lights radiating from all the windows and all the smiling people bustling around town that projects a warmth...even though it's the Snow Village.
Stay tuned for pictures!
*Simon and Garfunkel
A spot of winter brightness comes from a little collection of mine. My grandmother started a collection for each of my sisters and me on our eighth birthday. My two older sisters both collected Madame Alexander dolls. My younger sister ended up with a porcelain animal collection (I think made by Lennox).
When my turn came about, my grandmother took me to a store called Happy House in the mall. It was just the two of us, which made me feel very special (when you grow up in a family of seven getting one-on-one attention from an adult is a nice treat). And she was letting me pick out my collection all by myself.
Something caught my eye when I first walked into the store. It was a winter village with buildings that were bright colors and shiny. They were so pretty, and they lit up! I didn't want to be hasty, so I made sure to walk all around the store to see what else they had to offer. My eyes kept wandering back to that village, though, and that's what I picked.
Years later, my grandmother told me she tried her hardest to get me to pick almost anything else in the store. There were pewter figurines, Precious Moments figurines, and a bunch of other small collectibles to choose from. Apparently, my grandmother thought it would be better for me to pick something smaller than a village, seeing as there was seven of us living in a tiny two-bedroom house.
But I was eight and didn't care about practical matters like space, and besides my collection was starting with just one building. I may have been small myself (and I was even small for my age...I always said if my siblings and I had been a litter of dogs, I would've been the runt that got drowned), but I certainly wasn't thinking small. I now have over twenty buildings and countless accessories in my Snow Village. It's still growing too, although not as rapidly as when my grandmother used to add to it twice a year (once on my birthday and again on Christmas).
I currently have it displayed in two different rooms on a total of three different surfaces. I'm a bit more discriminate when I add a large piece to it these days because I don't want to have to buy a second house just to accommodate the village. There's just something about the yellow lights radiating from all the windows and all the smiling people bustling around town that projects a warmth...even though it's the Snow Village.
Stay tuned for pictures!
*Simon and Garfunkel
Monday, December 22, 2008
"If you're worried and you can't sleep, just count your blessings instead of sheep"*
One of the blessings I have been able to count on this holiday season is that my nine-year-old nephew still thinks hanging out with his old aunt is fun. We have movie nights, we cook together, we talk books. It's all good, but I know it won't last. He'll be a teenager soon (too soon!), and teenagers don't think their aunts—even not-so-old ones—are cool.
We recently got together at my sister's house to make Christmas cookies. Surprisingly, my three-year-old niece and two-year-old nephew abandoned their Christmas video to come help us.
My little nephew got a bit anxious as we were cooking and decorating the cookies. A gingerbread woman and a gingerbread man were the only raw cookies left on the table. While I helped my niece with the sprinkles and my sister helped my older nephew with the frosting, my little nephew helped himself to the gingerbread lady.
He boldly proclaimed, "I'm gonna lick the lady!"
Now, my little nephew speaks very clearly, and my sister and I both heard him and understood him. At any given time in my sister's house, one of the kids is bound to be making some noise. Usually it's quiet singing or talking to no one in particular, but this time my little nephew was actually making an announcement. My sister and I made the mistake of not taking his announcement seriously. So, sure enough, he licked the gingerbread lady.
Then he said, "I'm gonna lick the man!"
Before my sister or I could stop him, he leaned over the table and licked the gingerbread man. Well, there's no sense in wasting licked cookies, so we cooked them up and wrote his name on them with edible gel.
Here's a few of our creations:
*Irving Berlin
Thursday, December 4, 2008
"Starry starry night, paint your palette blue and grey"*
The next—sorry to all of you who were hoping it would be the last—installment of the over analyzation of Van Gogh's paintings features The Starry Night at the Yale Art Gallery. (See Sunflowers and The Night Café for others.)
My initial reaction to The Starry Night was that it is, in a word, small. Now, Van Gogh is known as an impressionist who created relatively small works, but really, The Starry Night isn’t much bigger than the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. My theory is that because Van Gogh was so poor most of his life, he didn’t have the money to buy enough paint for larger paintings. If you’ve ever seen one of his works in person, you can see that he really did glob the paint on the canvas. I mean, we’re talking about a guy who couldn’t afford to buy food (and supposedly ate paint for nourishment on occasion), so it’s no surprise his masterpieces are kind of small.
The colors of this painting didn’t strike me the same way the colors of Sunflowers eventually did. The setup of the display didn’t really allow viewers to get too far away from the painting, so that could have had something to do with it (I had to get three rooms away from Sunflowers to see it properly). Still, I had been hoping the yellow of the swirling stars would pop off the dark blue sky a bit more. The painting was mounted on a yellow wall, and this may have altered the colors as well. At the very least, I found the wall distracting.
I asked the usher about the wall, and he said something about how a lot of thought went into choosing the background color, blah, blah blah (I don’t think he really had any idea why it was yellow)! The background may have actually taken away from the way the stars were supposed to pop off the blue sky. My experience with Sunflowers taught me that an unlikely color (like one not in the painting or one that is just hinted at) might work better than one that is already dominant.
This thought led me to take a closer look at the other featured painting called Cypresses. This is a view of the same cypress trees that are in The Starry Night, but it shows them during the day and in a slightly different viewpoint. These colors really popped off the canvas (much like the colors of A Wheatfield, with Cypresses did when I saw it in The National Gallery in London). Cypresses was mounted on a yellow wall as well, and frankly it didn’t do much for it at all. I decided a pale pink wall would’ve really amped up the colors. (I mentioned this to a pair of ladies who were also at the exhibit, and they wholeheartedly agreed with me.)
Then I began to wonder how The Starry Night would look with a pale pink background or even an off-white one. Colors that aren’t really in the painting, but ones that wouldn’t match or clash with it, ones that wouldn’t distract me so much, ones that would have made for a much more subtle background. Too bad I’ll never know…unless The Musuem of Modern Art in N.Y.C. has it on a pale pink background (I doubt it!).
Now, one of my favorite things about The Starry Night is the little village down the hill in the bottom right-hand corner of the painting. It’s dark out, but there’s a few lights shining from the village, indicating a few folks are still up and about. Whenever I see prints of The Starry Night, the village seems so alive to me. I can almost hear the sounds of it echoing up the hill. Seeing this painting in person took a little away from the liveliness of the village.
I’m not criticizing Van Gogh for this because I think it had to do more with the way the painting was framed; you could see the edges of the painting, where the paint ends and the canvas shows. I’m not sure why someone would frame it like that. Maybe so none of the painted part was covered at all. It disappointed me, though. Instead of feeling like I was really there myself—or maybe peering out a window from a little cottage up on the hill—I was just looking at a painting. It took a little of the magic out of it.
Still, the painting was amazing. I definitely glad I finally saw it in person. I can’t wait to see more Van Gogh works. I’ll even settle for going to London again to see Sunflowers!
*Don McLean
My initial reaction to The Starry Night was that it is, in a word, small. Now, Van Gogh is known as an impressionist who created relatively small works, but really, The Starry Night isn’t much bigger than the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. My theory is that because Van Gogh was so poor most of his life, he didn’t have the money to buy enough paint for larger paintings. If you’ve ever seen one of his works in person, you can see that he really did glob the paint on the canvas. I mean, we’re talking about a guy who couldn’t afford to buy food (and supposedly ate paint for nourishment on occasion), so it’s no surprise his masterpieces are kind of small.
The colors of this painting didn’t strike me the same way the colors of Sunflowers eventually did. The setup of the display didn’t really allow viewers to get too far away from the painting, so that could have had something to do with it (I had to get three rooms away from Sunflowers to see it properly). Still, I had been hoping the yellow of the swirling stars would pop off the dark blue sky a bit more. The painting was mounted on a yellow wall, and this may have altered the colors as well. At the very least, I found the wall distracting.
I asked the usher about the wall, and he said something about how a lot of thought went into choosing the background color, blah, blah blah (I don’t think he really had any idea why it was yellow)! The background may have actually taken away from the way the stars were supposed to pop off the blue sky. My experience with Sunflowers taught me that an unlikely color (like one not in the painting or one that is just hinted at) might work better than one that is already dominant.
This thought led me to take a closer look at the other featured painting called Cypresses. This is a view of the same cypress trees that are in The Starry Night, but it shows them during the day and in a slightly different viewpoint. These colors really popped off the canvas (much like the colors of A Wheatfield, with Cypresses did when I saw it in The National Gallery in London). Cypresses was mounted on a yellow wall as well, and frankly it didn’t do much for it at all. I decided a pale pink wall would’ve really amped up the colors. (I mentioned this to a pair of ladies who were also at the exhibit, and they wholeheartedly agreed with me.)
Then I began to wonder how The Starry Night would look with a pale pink background or even an off-white one. Colors that aren’t really in the painting, but ones that wouldn’t match or clash with it, ones that wouldn’t distract me so much, ones that would have made for a much more subtle background. Too bad I’ll never know…unless The Musuem of Modern Art in N.Y.C. has it on a pale pink background (I doubt it!).
Now, one of my favorite things about The Starry Night is the little village down the hill in the bottom right-hand corner of the painting. It’s dark out, but there’s a few lights shining from the village, indicating a few folks are still up and about. Whenever I see prints of The Starry Night, the village seems so alive to me. I can almost hear the sounds of it echoing up the hill. Seeing this painting in person took a little away from the liveliness of the village.
I’m not criticizing Van Gogh for this because I think it had to do more with the way the painting was framed; you could see the edges of the painting, where the paint ends and the canvas shows. I’m not sure why someone would frame it like that. Maybe so none of the painted part was covered at all. It disappointed me, though. Instead of feeling like I was really there myself—or maybe peering out a window from a little cottage up on the hill—I was just looking at a painting. It took a little of the magic out of it.
Still, the painting was amazing. I definitely glad I finally saw it in person. I can’t wait to see more Van Gogh works. I’ll even settle for going to London again to see Sunflowers!
*Don McLean
Friday, November 21, 2008
"Closing time, you don't have to go home but you can't stay here"*
So here it is (finally!): the beginning of a follow-up to this post about Vincent Van Gogh’s Sunflowers painting. You didn’t think I had forgotten, did you? Sometimes I just need a little time to ruminate/procrastinate before the literary genius is released.
Anyway, I finally visited the Yale University Art Gallery to see the special Van Gogh exhibit. When my husband and I arrived, we had some time to kill before out allotted appointment with The Starry Night, so we perused the African art, which I found to be very stereotypically...umm...phallic. Then we checked out the Asian art, which we found quite...umm...amusing. Okay, so Yale University is supposed to be one of the most prestigious colleges in the world and all that, but I couldn’t help but wonder about it when I examined a beautiful piece of Asian pottery whose label was comprised of a time period and the word "Pitcher."
I thought Maybe this label is just an anomaly. Perhaps very little was known about this piece when it was found, so they kept it simple. But then we came across another piece of pottery that was described as "Vase" and another one called "Bowl." In fact, the more pieces we looked at the more we realized that this labeling-of-the-obvious was the standard. My husband and I speculated that perhaps this tagging system stemmed from some sort of project done by the freshmen in Intro to Art 101 (or maybe it was spearheaded by the local kindergarten class!). In an effort not to get kicked out of the art gallery for excessive giggling (Why am I always worrying about being kicked out of art galleries?), we moved on to the Modern and Contemporary Art section.
This area is home to my very favorite Van Gogh painting The Night Café. The bright reds, greens, and yellows are almost harsh to the eyes; the colors both contrast and compliment the lonely, ghostly themes of the painting. At first glance, the painting is simple, but the more you look at it, the more you notice the odd proportions and angles of the room and its contents.
The people are hunched over. The ceiling lamps mimic stars, but they don’t have the same warmth of the stars in Van Gogh’s night skies. The bouquet at the far end of the room is in full bloom, but behind it the table is full of amber bottles of liquor. The clock reads that it’s very early in the morning as if the inhabitants of the painting have nothing worth going home to. The drape in the back doorway falls in the shape of an eerie figure, who is watching—maybe judging—the others in the room. I could go on forever about this painting (clearly I’ve spent way too much time thinking about it).
It was to this standard of (over) thinking that The Starry Night was held. Alas, I must leave you with a cliffhanger here as I ruminate/procrastinate a little more! I know, the suspense created by impressionist art is overwhelming you, isn’t it?
*Semisonic
Anyway, I finally visited the Yale University Art Gallery to see the special Van Gogh exhibit. When my husband and I arrived, we had some time to kill before out allotted appointment with The Starry Night, so we perused the African art, which I found to be very stereotypically...umm...phallic. Then we checked out the Asian art, which we found quite...umm...amusing. Okay, so Yale University is supposed to be one of the most prestigious colleges in the world and all that, but I couldn’t help but wonder about it when I examined a beautiful piece of Asian pottery whose label was comprised of a time period and the word "Pitcher."
I thought Maybe this label is just an anomaly. Perhaps very little was known about this piece when it was found, so they kept it simple. But then we came across another piece of pottery that was described as "Vase" and another one called "Bowl." In fact, the more pieces we looked at the more we realized that this labeling-of-the-obvious was the standard. My husband and I speculated that perhaps this tagging system stemmed from some sort of project done by the freshmen in Intro to Art 101 (or maybe it was spearheaded by the local kindergarten class!). In an effort not to get kicked out of the art gallery for excessive giggling (Why am I always worrying about being kicked out of art galleries?), we moved on to the Modern and Contemporary Art section.
This area is home to my very favorite Van Gogh painting The Night Café. The bright reds, greens, and yellows are almost harsh to the eyes; the colors both contrast and compliment the lonely, ghostly themes of the painting. At first glance, the painting is simple, but the more you look at it, the more you notice the odd proportions and angles of the room and its contents.
The people are hunched over. The ceiling lamps mimic stars, but they don’t have the same warmth of the stars in Van Gogh’s night skies. The bouquet at the far end of the room is in full bloom, but behind it the table is full of amber bottles of liquor. The clock reads that it’s very early in the morning as if the inhabitants of the painting have nothing worth going home to. The drape in the back doorway falls in the shape of an eerie figure, who is watching—maybe judging—the others in the room. I could go on forever about this painting (clearly I’ve spent way too much time thinking about it).
It was to this standard of (over) thinking that The Starry Night was held. Alas, I must leave you with a cliffhanger here as I ruminate/procrastinate a little more! I know, the suspense created by impressionist art is overwhelming you, isn’t it?
*Semisonic
Thursday, July 10, 2008
"Here Comes the Sun"*
Tomorrow I'm going to see a special Vincent Van Gogh exhibit at the Yale Art Gallery that features two of his most famous paintings, Cypresses and The Starry Night. Van Gogh happens to be my favorite artist. Granted he was absolutely crazy, but he was also a genius (it's odd how often those two characteristics go together).
The last time I saw a Van Gogh painting in person was in London's National Gallery (yup, we're back to London). I didn't have high expectations when I first went there because I tend to prefer Van Gogh's night and tree paintings to his sunflower ones, and the featured painting there is a still life of sunflowers in a vase, aptly called Sunflowers.
On my first visit to the gallery, Sunflowers had been moved from its usual spot to where the temporary exhibits usually are; that means it was stuck downstairs in the corner of the building. This area is different than the rest of the gallery because the rooms are much smaller and the walls are all painted with bright or dark colors--colours if you're from London--instead of the typical beige.
The gallery was very busy that day. I squeezed my way into the tiny room with the painting. Temporary ropes had been set up all around the bottom edge of the wall so you couldn't get close enough to touch the paintings. My first impression of Sunflowers was that it was...well...yellow. I got as close as I could in order to see the swirling brush strokes. Then I looked at it from one corner of the room, from the back center of the room, and finally the other corner of the room.
I left the Van Gogh room to check out some Monet paintings, and then came back for another look. My second impression was that it wasn't as eye-catching as the painting A Wheatfield, with Cypresses. The blue-green swirls in the sky against the wheat-colored grass and the dark-green cypress trees really popped off the canvas. Sunflowers was still so...yellow.
Feeling very disappointed despite my low expectations, I went and found a bench so I could write about my experience. I was two rooms away from Sunflowers, but I caught a glimpse of it through the open doorways. This third, unexpected view was impressive. I actually think it really did take my breath away for a minute. The bright yellow background glowed as if the very sun shone in from behind. I've never seen paint take on such a life of its own. I didn't even know paint could do that. Stunning. Absolutely stunning.
Then I noticed how all the people who went to look at Sunflowers got real close to it, like I had, only to walk away after a few minutes without a glance back. I wanted to stand on the bench and shout, "You're looking at it all wrong! Come over here and look!" Naturally I didn't do that. I wanted to be able to come back, and shouting in a gallery is a good way to get banned from it.
It took me more than three viewings and a two-room distance to see Sunflowers in the right light. All those people were looking but not really seeing it. I wondered what else I might have looked at only to see it from the wrong perspective. I sat and wrote and thought. Then a man came and sat next to me. He was there a few minutes before I glanced at him. Just as I did, he caught sight of the painting. His expression told me that he was having the same moment I had just had.
I couldn't help myself; I had to say something to him. He thought I was a student (no surprise there), but it was great to share the experience. At least one other human in the whole gallery-of-oblivious-people got it. Oh well, their loss. I'm trying to keep my expectations low for the Yale exhibit--I hate being disappointed. I mean, how many unbelievable pieces of art can one crazy guy paint? I'll let you know!
*The Beatles
The last time I saw a Van Gogh painting in person was in London's National Gallery (yup, we're back to London). I didn't have high expectations when I first went there because I tend to prefer Van Gogh's night and tree paintings to his sunflower ones, and the featured painting there is a still life of sunflowers in a vase, aptly called Sunflowers.
On my first visit to the gallery, Sunflowers had been moved from its usual spot to where the temporary exhibits usually are; that means it was stuck downstairs in the corner of the building. This area is different than the rest of the gallery because the rooms are much smaller and the walls are all painted with bright or dark colors--colours if you're from London--instead of the typical beige.
The gallery was very busy that day. I squeezed my way into the tiny room with the painting. Temporary ropes had been set up all around the bottom edge of the wall so you couldn't get close enough to touch the paintings. My first impression of Sunflowers was that it was...well...yellow. I got as close as I could in order to see the swirling brush strokes. Then I looked at it from one corner of the room, from the back center of the room, and finally the other corner of the room.
I left the Van Gogh room to check out some Monet paintings, and then came back for another look. My second impression was that it wasn't as eye-catching as the painting A Wheatfield, with Cypresses. The blue-green swirls in the sky against the wheat-colored grass and the dark-green cypress trees really popped off the canvas. Sunflowers was still so...yellow.
Feeling very disappointed despite my low expectations, I went and found a bench so I could write about my experience. I was two rooms away from Sunflowers, but I caught a glimpse of it through the open doorways. This third, unexpected view was impressive. I actually think it really did take my breath away for a minute. The bright yellow background glowed as if the very sun shone in from behind. I've never seen paint take on such a life of its own. I didn't even know paint could do that. Stunning. Absolutely stunning.
Then I noticed how all the people who went to look at Sunflowers got real close to it, like I had, only to walk away after a few minutes without a glance back. I wanted to stand on the bench and shout, "You're looking at it all wrong! Come over here and look!" Naturally I didn't do that. I wanted to be able to come back, and shouting in a gallery is a good way to get banned from it.
It took me more than three viewings and a two-room distance to see Sunflowers in the right light. All those people were looking but not really seeing it. I wondered what else I might have looked at only to see it from the wrong perspective. I sat and wrote and thought. Then a man came and sat next to me. He was there a few minutes before I glanced at him. Just as I did, he caught sight of the painting. His expression told me that he was having the same moment I had just had.
I couldn't help myself; I had to say something to him. He thought I was a student (no surprise there), but it was great to share the experience. At least one other human in the whole gallery-of-oblivious-people got it. Oh well, their loss. I'm trying to keep my expectations low for the Yale exhibit--I hate being disappointed. I mean, how many unbelievable pieces of art can one crazy guy paint? I'll let you know!
*The Beatles
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